Charmed to death: an Ophelia and Abby mystery (8 page)

"No, it's Arthur. He's here for breakfast. Got to go," she said in a rush. "I'll talk to you tomorrow when you get home."

Click
. Abby had hung up. I sat staring at the receiver in my hand. Arthur? Breakfast? My God, it was what? I looked at the clock, six-thirty in the morning. What was he doing at Abby's at six-thirty? A thought popped into my mind. No, no, couldn't be. The woman was seventy-four years old. And he had to be at least the same age, if not older. I wiped the mental image away. I'd think about it later. Right now I had something to do.

In the bathroom I grabbed a washcloth. After looking up the number in the phone book, I dialed it. On the second ring, a woman answered.

"Police Station. May I help you?"

Placing the washcloth over the receiver, I said, "Tell Detective Perez to check the stolen vehicle records from five years ago, from the month of November. He's looking for a stolen blue van. It might have been used in the Brian Mitchell murder."

As I hung up the receiver, I heard her say, "Wait, who is this? What's your name?"

The washcloth trick always worked in the movies, didn't it?

Boy, I hope so.

Chapter Nine

The colored lights above the dance floor flashed to the rhythm of the music while hot sweaty bodies moved to the same beat. Cigarette smoke hung in the air in gray wispy clouds. Darci's bright red lips were smiling and her eyes surveyed the room, taking it all in.

"Isn't this great?"

"Well—" I eyed the room skeptically.

Darci's head swiveled in the opposite direction. "Oh, look over there. At the couple by the steps. That guy's a good dancer, isn't he?"

"Well—"

"What about that guy over there? Do you think he's cute?"

I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. And waited.

Darci's head swiveled back. "You know, Ophelia, you might have more fun if you tried talking a little more."

Shaking my head, I smiled at her. "Darci, how can I? You won't let me finish a sentence."

"Oops. Sorry. I guess I get carried away sometimes, but honestly, isn't this just the best? I wish Summerset had a place like this."

"Summerset and a singles bar, huh? Let's see how many single men are there in Summerset? Five? I don't know if that would be enough to keep the place open."

Darci laughed. "Yeah, you're right. And their work boots would scratch up the floor." She laughed again. "I guess we'll have to go to Des Moines next time."

I groaned. Crud, now she'd want me to party with her all the time. I saw visions of my nice, quiet life slipping away in a haze of booze and men. I groaned again.

"Oh, stop it," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You're going to have fun tonight if it kills you. Something has to get your mind off all the stuff that's going on."

She might be right. I guess my life wasn't that quiet to begin with—serial killers, weird dreams, and a grandmother who practiced magick by the light of the moon. Nope, not quiet at all.

Abby was right too. My friendship with Darci was a good thing, a very good thing. And I knew no matter how many times Darci promised me to stay out of it, she wouldn't. How in the devil was I going to find Brian's killer and protect her at the same time? The thought scared me.

Darci reached across the table and lightly touched my hand. "I told you to stop it."

"Stop what?" I asked, shrugging a shoulder. "I'm just sitting here."

"Yeah, with a frown plastered on your face." Darci settled back in her chair. "Relax, forget about the runes and the dreams. It'll be okay, really. I've got faith in you. You'll handle the trouble when the time comes."

She had more confidence than I did, I thought, while my eyes scanned the bar. In the dim light my eyes locked on a man standing near the bar. He looked familiar, wearing a baseball cap and a shirt with the sleeves cut off at the shoulder. Damn, he looked like Harley Walters. Why would Harley be in Iowa City?

"Darci, is that Harley Walters standing at the bar?"

Darci spun around in her chair to look. "Where?"

"Over there," I said, motioning with my head. "Baseball cap, shirt with sleeves cut out."

She shook her head. "I don't see him."

I peered around Darci. The man I had seen was gone. Oh well, couldn't have been Harley. He was too busy causing Abby trouble to come to Iowa City.

"Hey, look at the guy over there. Now, he's cute," Darci said, her eyes widening.

I looked around the dance floor. "Which guy?"

"The one with the black hair, red shirt, tight jeans. Ohhh, he's got a great butt too."

"Dancing with the redhead?"

"No, not him. The one with the brunette. He has his back to us now."

Scanning the dance floor, I saw the man Darci was talking about. He had his back to me and I couldn't see his face. Dark hair, wide shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. And, yes indeed, his butt wasn't bad. Perfect, really. He danced well too. His perfect butt swayed in perfect rhythm with the music. It was a pleasure to watch him.

His partner thought so too. Her eyes never left his face and she'd toss her hair and smile at him. She danced in close to him and grabbed his waist. Soon her hips were moving with his to the same rhythm.

"Jeez, why don't they just get a room," I said to Darci. Glancing over at her, I saw her eyes were focused on the couple too.

"Wow, he is
so
hot. And she's trying hard to pick him up."

"The way they're dancing," I said, not taking my eyes off the swaying couple. "I'd say she's succeeded."

"Umm, I don't know. I don't think so. If you notice, it's her hanging on to him, not the other way around. Watch and see what happens when the song ends."

When it did, the man took one step back, away from the woman. Maybe Darci was right and they weren't together. He took the woman's arm to escort her off the dance floor, and when he did, he turned.

No, not again, not twice in the same week! The man was Henry Comacho. Ewww, I'd been having lascivious thoughts about Henry Comacho's butt. I'd be scarred for life.

"What's wrong with you? You look like you swallowed something sour."

I reached across the table and grabbed Darci's wrist. "We've got to get out of here. It's Comacho."

"Who?"

"Comacho, Henry Comacho. You know, the detective, the one I refer to as the spawn of Satan?"

"Oh,
that
Henry Comacho."

"Yes, and we have to leave before he spots me," I said, ducking my head and slinking down in my chair.

Darci looked over her shoulder. "Too late—here he comes." She looked back at me. "Sit up straight. Act as if nothing's wrong. It's not like he's going to arrest you."

"Maybe it would be better if he did. I wouldn't have to talk to him. Jail might not be bad." I felt my eyes glaze over. "Three meals a day, my clothes picked out for me every day…"

Darci leaned forward and shook my arm. "Shh. You're babbling."

I clamped my jaws together to stop my runaway tongue.

"Hi, Ophelia, we meet again. What a coincidence. Haven't seen you in five years, and now, twice in the same week. Odd, isn't it?"

"Yeah, real odd," I said through my clenched teeth.

He turned his head and looked at Darci, waiting for me to introduce them. Darci took the initiative.

"Hi, I'm Darci West, a friend of Ophelia's," she said, extending her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Darci. I'm Henry Comacho. Mind if I join you ladies?"

Before we answered, he pulled the chair out and sat. I picked up my straw and bent it back and forth in my hand while my knee bounced up and down of its own volition.
Dang, that man makes me nervous
. Silence settled on the three of us.

Darci broke the silence first. "Uhhh, Ophelia told me you're a police detective here?"

"Was, now I'm with the DCI."

"In Des Moines?"

"Yes."

"That's close to Summerset."

I nudged Darci's ankle with my foot. Comacho didn't need to be reminded of how close Summerset was to where he worked. He might decide to pay the town a visit.

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"And you investigate serial murders, don't you?"

I nudged her harder this time. Now was not the time to discuss serial killers.

"I assist local police anywhere in the state with homicides, not only serial ones."

"Oh, were you in—ouch!"

Whoops, nudged her too hard.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. My purse fell on my foot," Darci said while she nudged
me
under the table and glared.

A man came up behind Darci and laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Excuse me, would you want to dance?"

"Sure, love to." With one last glare at me, she stood and walked to the dance floor.

I watched Darci dance. She was smiling. And when her partner said something to her, she threw back her head and laughed. She was having such a good time and I couldn't help but smile myself, watching her.

"Your friend's nice."

"What?" I asked, turning my attention away from the dance floor.

Comacho leaned toward me. "I said your friend's nice."

"Yes, she is. And if you try to pull her in on your investigation of Brian's death, I'll have to hurt you."

His eyes widened in surprise and he laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"You. I didn't know you had a sense of humor."

"Yeah. Well, I didn't know you knew how to laugh. And why is the idea of me protecting Darci funny?"

"First of all, it's illegal to threaten a police officer—"

"You're not on duty now," I interrupted.

"Doesn't make a difference. And second, I'm twice your size. You think you could take me, Jensen?" He leaned closer.

"You might be surprised," I said with a confident look.

He nodded his head, smiling. "Yeah, maybe I would." The smile disappeared while his eyes searched my face. His eyes broke contact when a waitress set a drink in front of him.

"Here's your Cuba Libre, Henry," the waitress said.

"Thanks," he replied and looked back at me. "Do you want anything, Ophelia?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Keep the change, Jill," he said, handing her a five-dollar bill.

"Thanks." And she walked away.

Henry took a drink and looked at me again. "You're not the same person you were five years ago, are you?"

I shrugged.

"Didn't think so. Moving to Summerset after you left the hospital evidently did you good."

I gasped. After Brian's death, I'd spent two weeks in the psyche ward, being treated for Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. "How did you know about the hospital?"

"I keep tabs, especially when it's related to a case like Mitchell's."

"I'd rather not talk about it," I said, leaning away from him.

"Hey, it's okay. I understand. When I was in the service, a lot of guys had problems when they came back from Kuwait, the ones who had watched their buddies get killed." He shook his head. " 'Survivors' guilt,' I think they call it. Nothing to be ashamed of."

Wow, understanding from Henry Comacho. Amazing.

Not able to meet his eyes, I looked around the room. From where he sat at the bar, Fletcher Beasley raised his glass to me.

I shut my eyes. This was surreal: Henry Comacho
and
Fletcher Beasley.

"What's wrong?"

I opened my eyes to see Comacho staring at me.